That Was Then, This Is Now
by Constance Nightingale
Summary: The year is 2002. Penelope is a forensic anthropologist who feels that no case can stump her. UPDATED Ch.6!
1. Default Chapter

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Disclaimer: I do not own Erik or any of the characters found in Gaston Leroux's and Susan Kay's books. I am writing only for fun.

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IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: 

I have never been to Paris, therefore I have no idea what it looks like. I made up my own Paris, so it is not accurate. On the other hand, this is my first fan fic, so please be kind. Flames and reviews are greatly appreciated, but the later will be appreciated more than the former ;) Also, one last thing. This story will move a little slow at first, but it will get better. So please, bear with me. 

Turah!

~Ayesha

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CHAPTER ONE

It was a hellish trip. One for the books, I'd say. All of my enthusiasm and excitement at the beginning ran alarmally short and disappeared all together by the time the bloody plane reached the half point. By the end, I was ready to kill.

Seat belts were required to be worn at all times because of the turbulence the plane couldn't manage to shake off. One couldn't even make oneself comfortable. Not that I would have been comfortable anyway. It was just my luck that I was seated beside a child who apparently didn't know how to sit still or keep that big hole in her face shut.

The radio on my seat was out. The English and French dialogue buttons didn't work, and as I do not know German, watching the movie was also out of the question. Not that I would want to anyway. The movie was "Bicentennial Man." Thinking about it makes me shudder. 

When the cursed plane finally landed, it took all my will power not to simply run out. I also managed to approach customs without pushing anyone out of the way and gave the man my passport. He obviously must have been new, for he was far too energetic and eager with his job.

Most annoying.

"Penelope Richards. Lovely name, Ms. Richards. And may I say that your passport picture turned out fabulous," he said, smiling.

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Suck up, I thought. _Flattery will get you no where, my friend. _"My name is pronounced Pen – ell – o – pee, and if you don't mind, I would very much like to skip the pleasantries and get out of here," I replied.

"Of course. My apologies. Will your stay be business or pleasure?"

"Business."

"And how long will your stay be?"

"Depends how long it will take me to do my job."

"May I ask what you do?"

I sighed, "I suppose."

There was silence for a moment. He looked at me expectantly and then he seemed to realize what I said.

"Oh! So, um… what do you do?"

"I am a forensic scientist."

"Are you really? Wow. So what are you doing in France?"

"My job. Are you finished with that?" I asked, indicating my passport.

"Yes, Ms. Richards. Welcome to Paris."

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~***~

Paris. The city of love and lights. Historic buildings were everywhere one looked, some wedged in between modern ones. They were all alight with various forms of lighting, giving the buildings an almost supernatural glow. Young and old lovers alike could be seen walking hand in hand, pointing with awe at these glowing architectural structures. Small cafes littered the streets, where one can buy a mouthwatering coffee, sit at a table on a comfortable chair, and relax as a street performer's music soothes ones nerves.

And then at the airport, there was me: "What do you mean my baggage is in Warsaw?!?"

"We are terribly sorry, mademoiselle, but there seemed to be a slight mix up. If you would care to wait, the luggage will be here in four hours," said an elderly airport worker, trying to calm everyone down.

"Well, monsieur, as delightful as that sounds, I would not care to wait." I could feel my control slipping. This was just too much.

"Very well. If you would be so good as to give me the address that you will be currently staying at, your luggage will be sent to you as soon as it arrives."

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~***~

My spirits lifted considerably when I first entered my hotel room. It was very spacious, and the walls were a lovely shade of maroon that gave a sort of cross between class and comfort.

The furniture itself was breathtaking, all of it made out of dark cherry wood, and furnished in an old – fashioned style, giving the whole room a warm, Victorian feeling (which was odd considering this was France). The bed was what every little girl dreamed a princess slept in: a queen four poster canopy bed, with delicant white curtains tied to the posts. Directly across from the bed was a double-doored glass window, which opened up to a delightful little balcony that overlooked the Parisian streets.

Upon further inspection, I noticed a small, rectangular object near one corner of the room with a fancy little handle.

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Score! I thought. _Mini fridge!_

As I was making my way to look over (and maybe sample a few of) the mini refrigerator's contents, I was interrupted by a knock on my door.

What do you think? Not bad? Bad? 

This was not beta read, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling mistakes.

Please review : )

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	2. Chapter Two

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Disclaimer: See chapter One.

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Author's Note: Thank you soooooo much for everyone that has reviewed! You guys have no idea how happy I am. I was so nervous posting this up, but when I got those good reviews it just made my day. Thank you again!

Here's chapter two. Hope you like it!

Turah!

~Ayesha

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CHAPTER TWO

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Weird. I thought he said the luggage would take four hours.

I opened the door to see a middle aged man whose face looked a lot like a rats. He was wearing a suit, but it appeared as if he had not changed for a couple of days. His shirt was a bit wrinkled and the first two buttons were undone, the tie loosened. The man in question also had bags under his eyes, and the little hair he had left was ruffled up and standing at all ends, as if he had ran his hands through many times. When he spoke, his voice was tired and weary, but was kind and held a delightful French accent.

"Welcome to Paris, mademoiselle Richards." But it sounded like: Welcome to Parie, mademoiselle Reeshard. "I trust you like your hotel?"

"Yes I do, thank you. Who are you?"

"Oh, how rude of moi. Je m'appelle Francois Eyraud. I am the chief of police of the Paris Police Department and Forensic Laboratory. We spoke on the phone."

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We did? Searching for said conversation. Searching…searching…found.

"Oh yeah. Wanna come in?" I asked. I opened the door wider and moved aside to let him step through. He, however, shook his head and continued to speak.

"Non, merci, mademoiselle. I have come here to take you to what was found."

"But I just got here. My luggage isn't even here yet," I answered.

"Yes, but we would like your opinion as soon as possible. The whole police force and theater staff are very curious to what this discovery can mean. This could make history."

I hesitated, glancing at the mini fridge. "All right. Hold on, I'll get my coat."

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~***~

In the chief of police's car…

"Were you born in France, Mr. Eyraud?" I asked, glancing at him as he drove.

"Oui, mademoiselle. Why do you ask?"

"Well, other than your accent you speak excellent English." I looked out the window, admiring a lit up fountain as I waited for his reply. Paris really was a beautiful city. Even in the dark of night.

"Merci, mademoiselle. My mother was English. She and my father met in university. When I was a child, both languages were spoken at home."

"That's great. I'm guessing you didn't have to take English during school?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from a particularly beautiful old building.

He chuckled, "No, I didn't. I read at those blocks." He made a turn and glanced at me. "We are almost there."

"Mr. Eyraud, what exactly is this that was found? All you told me over the phone was that the old Paris Opera House was currently under renovations down in it's cellars when the workers came across the skeleton of a human body. I hardly find that unusual as the Opera does have a dark history concerning the period of the siege and the commune. Also, why have you called me? You could have easily called in a French forensic anthropologist."

There was silence for a moment. "I called you because I heard that you can keep things to yourself and that you are the best of the best," he answered. He glanced at me with his gray eyes filled with amusement at my confusion, then returned back to the road.

"I still don't understand w -"

"Have you ever heard of the Phantom of the Opera?" he asked, cutting me off.

I stared at him for a couple of seconds. "Is that why I'm here? Because you believe that this skeleton belongs to a fictional character?"

"Non, mademoiselle. You are here to tell us what to believe and maybe prove us wrong." He stopped the car and turned to me. "We have arrived."


	3. Chapter Three

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Disclaimer: See chapter One

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Author's Note: I want to send out a big thank you to angelofnight, Daroga's Sidekick (CSI so rocks!), Juliette, Christine, AriesSolar, Deirdre of the Sorrows, and last but certainly not least, chicketieboo (who reviewed…twice!! Thanks : ) I'm glad you think Penelope's cool. I tried to make her sort of Severus Snapeish because I really love that guy.) Thank you all again.

And just one more thing, this chapter is going to be a little longer and is a sort of vague beginning to the actual story (angelofnight). Hope you like it!

Turah!

~Ayesha

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CHAPTER THREE

Big. It was very big.

I got out of the car and gaped open - mouthed at the huge structure towering before me. No wonder it was called one of the most beautiful pieces of architecture in the world. It was simply breathtaking… and _big._ My eyes traveled over the various columns and statues, taking in the stone arches, the precise and careful detail to every carving, and the faces of fairytale creatures, angels, and masks. I looked over to Mr. Eyraud, who was standing with his back leaning against the passenger car door, his arms crossed, watching me with a small smile on his face.

"It is always fun watching a person's first reaction," he said, straightening up and walking over to where I was standing.

"It's beautiful," I said, my voice almost a whisper. I cleared my throat and lifted my head, straining to see what's higher. "How many floors are there?"

"Seventeen. Seven of which are below street level."

"Underground," I muttered to no one in particular.

"Indeed," he said. Then I felt his hand at my elbow and he started to lead me to the front doors. "The basements are extremely large. They are used for storing sets and bigger props. The fifth basement, or cellar, has an underground lake, which is drained every few years so the foundation can be checked."

"So there really is an underground lake. I thought that was just part of Leroux's book."

"No, it really does exist. You shall see it for yourself."

"We're not gonna cross it, are we?" I asked cautiously. He answered by smiling and opening the large front door, letting me walk in first.

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~***~

If I thought the outside was impressive, it was nothing compared to the inside. We walked into the foyer where a magnificent marble staircase greeted my eyes. At the foot of the staircase were statues of women holding torches filled with electrically lit candles. Statues and figures were everywhere, the biggest being two women dressed in robes that guarded an entrance with a sign that said:

~AMPHITHEATRE~

BAIGNOIRES ~ ORCHESTRE

I was so busy admiring my surroundings that I barely noticed the two men standing in a corner, speaking rapid French. When they saw Francois and myself, they both stopped talking, looked at each other, and started walking towards us, their strides short and quick. These two instantly reminded me of Mr. Bean. I had to hide a laugh when they stopped in front of us, one with his hands on his hips, the other with his upper arms glued to his sides while the elbows down was stretched in front of him and his hands were hanging downwards. The classic Mr. Burns pose. Not that I watch 'The Simpsons'…

"Ah, monsieurs. I have brought you mademoiselle Penelope Richards, a forensic scientist from the United States. Mademoiselle, this is Monsieurs Pierre et Claude Thiele. The are the current managers of the Opera House," said Francois, introducing us.

As we shook hands, Pierre spoke: "We are thankful that you arrived at such short notice, mademoiselle."

And then Claude piped up: "Yes. Thankful. Short notice."

Both had really high voices that carried all around the massive room, echoing slightly off the walls. They were staring at me with wide eyes that were blinking rapidly, both nodding their heads enthusiastically.

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Well, well. I thought. _Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb._

"It is my pleasure, gentlemen. I shall try to do my best with whatever it is that was found," I answered. These two looked so much like hyper - active birds that I couldn't help but smile. The birds attention was once again directed to the policeman at my side as Francois began to speak.

"I thought it would be best if I showed the good mademoiselle what was found immediately, so that she may have a little bit of a head start," he said. Was it my imagination, or was he trying hard not to laugh himself?

They both started to nod even more enthusiastically than before, and by taking turns, they started to repeat themselves.

"Oh, quite right - "

" - good idea - "

" - quite right - "

" - good idea - "

" - quite right."

I almost burst out laughing but caught myself just in time. Francois cleared his throat, his gray eyes sparkling with amusement.

After assuring us that if we should ever need anything - anything at all - to not hesitate in coming up to their office and asking, Francois and I made our leave of the two birds.

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~***~

The trip down to the fifth cellar was incredibly long. Not only was it damp and dark, it seemed as if the lower we descended, the colder it got. And, my knees were killing me. I muttered curses under my breath, mentally smacking myself for not bringing a warmer jacket. Then I remembered that I couldn't have brought a warmer jacket because my baggage was God knows where. I cursed even more under my breath.

Finally, we reached the underground lake. I gazed over the unnaturally still waters, a heavy uneasiness settling down in the pit of my stomach. I started to shiver from more than just the cold. There was something about this dark, forbidden lake that changed the entire atmosphere around it. It was incredibly silent. Not a sound was heard but our own breathing. It was freezing, but the air was so thick with unnamable things that it made you want to look behind you, making sure there is nothing there. I had this constant feeling that I was being watched, but I saw nothing in the darkness. It was just a man made body of water, but it radiated such power that it could make even the strongest individual weak at the knees.

I jumped half a foot when I felt a hand at my elbow. I turned to face Francois, who was looking across the lake, his face uneasy. When he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"We have arrived at the gates of the Dark Angel's Domain."


	4. Chapter Four

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Disclaimer: See chapter 1

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! First of, I would like to apologize for not updating sooner. As we all know, school is upon us and I am up to my head in work. (Damn physics! Its like the saying goes: "Gun's don't kill people, Physics kills people." Which is technically true, once you think about it. The force on which the bullet emerges from the barrel and the speed that it spins… never mind. My socials and law teacher calls me a physics chick. A physics chick! But that's ok. It's a lot of work, but I like it.)

Anyways, secondly, I would like to apologize again. It seems that I have been suffering from a writer's block. (This chapter took me forever to write. I had more drafts for this chapter than all the other chapters combined.) So, if this chapter sucks… you know why.

Anyways, enough of the authors babble and on with the show.

Turah!

~Ayesha

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Chapter Four

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The silence is disturbed.

Again I hear footsteps, descending lower and lower. Those footsteps are coming to me, the owners either not caring or not realizing this fact. If not caring, the humans are fools. If not realizing, they will… soon enough.

With a sigh, I stand. One of the main reasons I have made my home in a cellar is to be left in peace. To be away from the cold - hearted world that is above. I thought it would also be convenient, seeing as I would have a shorter distance to travel when I would finally meet my fellow monsters in the fiery pits of hell.

But I never got there.

Pity.

I left my home to seek out my visitors. Like a predator who awaits its prey, I sulked into the shadows, listening. There were two of them. The blundering idiot was back with another one of his "experts." Not a word was exchanged between them, but soft curses, which were being mumbled under the new commer's breath. Something about lost baggage…

They have almost reached my lake. My mind begins to plot various means of frightening them away. In just a few moments, I will be able to lay my eyes on my next victim. Perhaps I shall use my lasso on -

It was a woman.

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~***~

"We have arrived at the gates of the Dark Angel's Domain."

"I turned my head slowly and looked at Francois, right eyebrow raised. Sure, the lake was a bit creepy, but for all I knew all underground lakes could be like this. Dark Angel's Domain. Puh - lease.

"We have arrived at the gates of the Dark Angel's Domain?" I echoed, my voice taking on a mocking tone. "Somebody's been reading to many horror stories. Who talks like that anymore anyway?" And with newly gained confidence, I started to march over to the lake's shore, the gravel crunching under my shoes.

When I reached the shore, I realized that Francois did not follow. I turned around to see him still standing in the same spot, his eyes still looking out over the waters. There was something about his look I did not like one bit. It was almost as if he were hiding something…

His eyes may have been speaking wonders, but the rest of him certainly didn't. He didn't look too good. In fact, he looked terrible. His face drained its color, leaving him looking very pale. It also looked like he wasn't feeling very good and was ready to be sick at any minute. Both hands were trembling slightly, nervous fingers fiddling with each other.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" I ask. As soon as I spoke, he snapped out of his trance, his eyes focusing on me. He seemed to be hesitating about something, then finally he spoke.

"Nothing."

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~***~

It took us a good thirty minutes to cross that lake. After Francois finally pulled himself together, he pointed to a little wooden boat docked further down the lake on our left - hand side. That boat looked like it would sink at any moment, let alone bare the weight of two adults. It's a good thing Francois did all the rowing. Boat travel never agreed with me and while Francois rowed, I was busy hanging my head over the side, struggling to keep the disgusting airplane food from making an encore appearance. 

When we reached the shore, Francois, ever the gentleman, got out first and offered me his hand. However, my battle failed miserably and I was soon hunched over, saying hello to my food. Francois held my hair, preventing it from getting in the way. When I was finished, he handed me a handkerchief.

"Sensitive stomach?" he asked.

I nodded, "Only when it comes to boats." I gave him a weak smile. "You didn't see that."

"See what?" he asked, winking.

A wave of gratitude washed over me. Let's face it, I'm not some Angel who like everyone that crosses my path. In fact, I dislike almost everyone I meet. That's one of the reasons I work with bones: they can't piss me off. And yet, here I am with a policeman that I have known for barely two hours, and I am already slowly considering him my friend. That's saying something.

We started to walk towards the location of where the skeleton was found. Leaving the lake, we passed through a stone archway, which led us into a dark tunnel. Francois handed me his flashlight and took out another one. One beam of light wasn't enough anymore.

The sound of little running feet followed us the entire time. More than once I had caught a rat scurrying in the shadows, trying to escape my path of light. My mind drifted to Leroux's book. Didn't we write something about rats also?

After fifteen minutes of winding through the corridors, we came to the end of the tunnel. Our quick strides slowed a bit as we crawled through a hole that had been made in the seemingly stone wall. This was where the renovations must have been taking place. I looked at the stone wall hosting the hole. If this was supposed to appear as a dead end, it was very well done. If not for the hole, I would think this was a solid stone wall.

I barley managed to hide my gasp of surprise of what my eyes beheld before me on the other side. It was a massive wooden door. It stood at least eight feet tall; the designs carved into it made with an expert's hand. The wood itself was very dark, almost black. The door towered before you like some kind of make shift security guard, daring you to step closer and knock.

Getting the door open proved to be a difficult task. The iron hinges haven't been used in a while, and the both of us didn't have anything oily on us. (I usually carried around lip balm, but I tossed it into the suitcase before I left for the airport. Curses.) We ended up pushing the door with all our strength, and by the time we opened enough to have a body fit through, we were both leaning against the stone wall, breathing heavily.

We then entered in single file, our flashlights out in front of us. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn't this. On the other side of the wooden door was a home. Or, rather, what was left of it. I'm not one to be an expert on home décor, but even I could tell that this was once a beautiful house. Tapestries hung on the walls, their once vibrant colors all faded and gray looking. Leather couches that once must have been very comfortable looked stiff and moldy. Persian carpets covered the floors, their fine softness gone. Two armchairs were positioned in front of a cold fireplace, both looking ready to collapse.

My eyes traveled the room, taking in the various odds and ends. They finally settled on a magnificent pipe organ which covered half a wall. Sheets upon sheets of difficult music were scattered around it, the fine paper looking like it would turn to dust at any moment.

"Penelope?"

I jumped as I heard Francois call my name from some other part of the house. I made my way across the room, carefully making sure I didn't step on anything. I absentmindedly noted that he called me by my first name.

I found him in another room which could have served as a bedroom. He pointed to a large coffin, which was positioned in the center of the room.

"Skeleton's in the coffin?" I ask

He nodded.

"Okay…" I said slowly. I made my way over to the front of the coffin. It was already open. 

This time, I didn't even bother hiding my gasp. Staring right back at me were the bones of a man, judging by the clothes it was wearing. But that is not what caused me to start. The skull that I was staring at was not what I expected. 

The left side was normal, but the right side was… deformed.

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	5. Chapter Five

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Disclaimer: See chapter one.

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Author's Note: Hello and Happy Thanksgiving to those living in Canada. Well, a long weekend is upon me, so I have time to write. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

On a different topic, has anyone seen this Thursday's CSI episode? You guys see that whole Sara/Grissom thing at the end? Man, I hope those two get together. I'm a complete Sara/Grissom shipper and I think they'd be perfect for each other. Screw Hank. 

Turah!

~Ayesha

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Chapter Five

Arms crossed, his back against a wall, and one foot taping on the ground, Francois eyed me impatiently. I couldn't blame him. He was, after all, the police officer. For him it was: go to the scene, listen to the problem, fix it, maybe throw in a few quick chases, and then you're outta there. I was the CSI. Long hours in one space was easy work for me. I was used to it. Francois was obviously not. Finally, he seemed to have had enough. He walked over to my current position and looked down. I didn't even notice his approach until two feet materialized close to my face. I looked up from my kneeled position on the ground.

"Penelope. We have been here for three hours. Please, go to the room with the coffin and look at that skeleton."

"I can't look at the skeleton in more detail yet," I replied, my head going back down. "I need to get acquainted with my surroundings first."

"You have been staring at that same wall for twenty minutes," he complained. "It is a _stone wall_."

I decided not to grace him with a response. According to Leroux's book, Erik had built Christine a room, which stood hidden in the underground house. If this was indeed the Phantom's lair, then one of these walls must be playing hostess to the secret room.

Francois sighed good naturally and stepped back. He started wondering around the room, stopping at a massive bookcase crammed with books. He wiped away the cobwebs and blew the thick layer of dust away from the spines, squinting his eyes to make out the titles. Finished with the wall, I stood up and walked over to him.

"This is an impressive collection of literature," he commented. "From Alexsandre Dumas to children's fairy tales. It is all here." He then went on pouring over the titles, occasionally picking up a book (very carefully so it wouldn't fall apart) and flipping trough it. It was almost at the same time that we noticed it: only one book had a bookmark. I reached for it, balancing the heavy volume in my hands. In English, the title read: "_The Complete Stories of Edgar Allen Poe." _Curious, I went to the bookmark and flipped the book open. In glorious detail, the portrait of Red Death stared back at me.

"In Leroux's book, did not Erik go to the masquerade ball as Red Death?" I asked Francois.

"He did."

"Interesting," I muttered. I gazed at the picture. The costume it wore was magnificent. Long robes pooled to the ground in an almost royal manner. Bony fingers held a long staff, which had a miniature human skull at the end. I looked at Red Death's skulled face. It looked very real; the artist did a very good job. My eyes traveled over the hideously grinning mouth, the hole where the nose was supposed to be and the empty eye sockets. I gazed into them, staring into their blackness when all of a sudden - 

it winked at me.

I jumped back with surprise, slamming the book shut, which caused a mushroom cloud of dust to rise up. As if it were red-hot iron, I carefully pushed the book to its original spot and took a step back. I then turned to Francois, who was watching me with curious worry.

"Did you see that?" I asked, pointing to the book.

"See what? Penelope, are you all right?"

"It - it winked at me," I stuttered. I didn't care that I must have sounded like a raving lunatic. I know what I saw, and it is common knowledge that pictures are not supposed to wink at the reader.

"It winked at you?" Francois repeated slowly.

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, it winked at me!"

A thoughtful expression came over Francois as he looked at me in a new way. But as quickly as it came, the look disappeared, and I soon found myself being led towards the door by a hand at my elbow.

"I am sorry, Penelope. You are tired. You have just arrived in Paris and I already led you away on this charade. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. We shall come back tomorrow after you have had time to rest."

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~***~

The door burst open and slammed shut as I thundered into the hotel room.

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My eyes playing tricks on me?!? Imagine that!

I went straight to the mini fridge, dimly noting that my luggage has arrived and is standing in a pile by the door. Rummaging through the fridge's contents, I pulled out a red wine. I then went over to my suitcase. After pulling out my pajama, I took that and the wine and went to the bathroom, drawing myself a bath.

Francois was hiding something, of that I was sure. There was more to that damn cellar than meets the eye.

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~***~

I had four hours of sleep that night. Usually I would sleep deeply and soundly, but that night I slept light, dreams plaguing my mind. In my dream, scenes flashed before my eyes, so quick and suddenly that I could barely recognize them for what they were. First it was a scene with a lot of color circling around me. Music reached my ears - they were dancing. Masks were everywhere, unseen eyes staring at me from empty eye spaces.

Then that scene changed and another took its place. I was somewhere high. I could see all of Paris below me. Behind me, a huge statue of Apollo reached into the heavens. The night wind was blowing on my face, hallowing in my ear. But then the wind's hallowing changed. It was no longer wind, but… human. Agonizing cries of sorrow flowed into the night. The man (for I was sure that it was a man) sobbed with such pain that my heart went out to him. Every so often, he would quietly moan a name. _Christine…_

Then the scene changed again. I was in a small room with a huge mirror. There was nothing special about the room, just a desk with a looking mirror, a small couch, and a dress rack filled with various dresses. _A dressing room. _Suddenly the soft glow of gaslight went out. I stood in total darkness, but I could hear something. Something was opening…

Then the scene changed again. I was standing in a beautiful house. Two squishy armchairs stood in front of a blazing fireplace. Rich Persian carpets covered the floor, my toes sinking into their softness. The room was alight with color, provided by the beautiful tapestries that hung on the walls. A pipe organ covered a wall, sheets of complicated music scattered around it, the ink of the notes still drying. I could see a Siamese cat purring in its sleep on top of a bookcase. I started to walk towards it, passing leather couches that looked so very comfortable.

As I stood on front of the bookcase, a book slid out and fell to my feet, opening to a page. I looked down and saw the portrait of Red Death staring up at me. The book then slammed shut by itself. Startled, I took a step back, only to walk into… someone. I quickly turned around, my eyes widening. Standing before me was a man, who was dressed in a beautifully tailored evening suit. A black velvet cape hung about his shoulders, and on his head a black hat prevented me from seeing his face. From what I could tell, he was about 6'3."

I was brought out of my musings by a beautiful voice, so rich and melodious, that if I were religious, I would think it belonged to an angel.

"Penelope," he said.

It was then that I saw his face. His skin was very pale, his raven black hair making it look whiter. It was almost the same shade as his mask.

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His mask!

A porcelain mask covered the right side of his face. But my attention was soon drawn away from the mask to his eyes. They were the most unique eyes I have ever seen. The left one was a warm brown with gold specks around the pupil, while the right eye was a deep gray - blue color. With an elegant hand, he handed me a crimson red rose, and with a small bow, he said:

"Welcome to my Opera House."

It was then that I woke up. I would have fallen back to sleep. Four hours was not enough. But I stayed awake. For when I awoke, in my hand was a crimson red rose.


	6. Author's Note

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello everyone,

I first want to start off by offering my heart - felt apologies to you all. I am so terribly sorry. I absolutely hate it when an author just forgets about their work and leaves his/her readers in the mud. Yet, here I have gone and done the same thing.

The truth is, I did give up on this story. Not only did I have a bad case of writer's block, but also I had no idea were this story was going. (I still don't, but I'll think of something.) I came on today to delete it off fanfiction.net, but I noticed something: new reviews - recent ones. They were all so nice and encouraging. So much so that I started to feel that maybe this damn story could go somewhere - with a bit of effort.

So, after a really inexcusable length of time (and I'm really sorry again), I'm going to continue this story. I'm also really happy to say that I already wrote two pages for Chapter six. Yay! I don't know when Chap. 6 will be completely finished and posted, but I'm hoping some time in the near future. (And I'll try to make it really long. As a sort of make - up.)

Thank you all so much for your patience.

Oh, and I changed my name. I never liked the name "Ayesha," even if it is the name of Erik's cat.

Turah!

~Constance 

PS

Did any of you out there see "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl?"

What about that Captain Jack Sparrow, eh? Damn, that man is so hot.


	7. Chapter six

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DISCLAIMER: Please see chapter one.

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Author's Note: Well, here it is. Chapter six. Also, I posted some of my responses and thoughts of some of the reviews I have received at the end of this chapter. If you could take a look at those, that would be great.

Enjoy and Turah!

~ Constance

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CHAPTER SIX

Francois found me at 9:00 am the next morning, pacing in my pajamas in front of a table. Resting on top of the polished surface were five empty cups of coffee. Beside the scattered china lay the rose. My nerves were more than a little shaken.

"Look at that!" I cried, pointing to the flower. Francois crossed the room and picked up the rose, smelling its scent and softly touching its petals.

"A beautiful specimen. But you must put it in water," he said, looking around for something to put the flower in. When failing to locate a vase he settled for an empty glass, which he picked up by the mini fridge. "It will wither on the table."

"It doesn't need it."

"Pardon?"

"I said it doesn't need water. It's been lying on that table for the past five hours. I was awake since 4:00 am."

Francois' head snapped back to me. "Five hours! But… but it looks like it has just been picked!"

"I know." Something about the unnatural calmness of my voice must have rang warning bells, for he asked:

"Are you all right?"

Choosing to ignore him, I said, "I've already had five cups of coffee. Do you think the hotel would give me a discount for the sixth?"

There was a pause. "You drank five cups of coffee?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

Another pause. "Your stay at this hotel has been paid for, including all expenses."

"Ah." I walked over to the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of sherry. "Well, in that case..."

Francois frowned at my actions. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

"Actually, now that you've mentioned it: no."

"Do you really think you should be drinking that this early?"

"I am well aware of the time, and yes, I think I should. Especially since it's free."

"Penelope - "

"Mr. Eyraud," I interrupted. "I am a scientist. A young one, mind, but a scientist nonetheless. I believe in logic and reason. Yet I am barely here for a bloody day and I already have unkillable plants materializing in my hand in the middle of the night, and books that wink at me. Now, we are going to sit down and you are going to explain what in God's name is going on here. And you better explain, Mr. Chief of Police, for if I find that you're faking innocence and lying, I am going to take my not - yet - unpacked luggage and go home. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Francois looked at me coldly, as if he was trying to keep his ground. Then his shoulders slumped, silently admitting defeat. His eyes darted around the room and rested on the mini fridge. He walked over to it and pulled out a bottle of vodka. Ignoring my raised eyebrow, he sat down at the table opposite me, opened the miniature bottle, and took a quick swing. With a lowered voice, he started to talk.

"During the year 1881 many things started happening at the Opera House. The old managers, Debienne and Poligny, retired. Replacing them were two new ones by the names of Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin. It was then that the mysterious notes written in red ink were taken into great consideration. Do not understand me incorrectly, Penelope. The notes started quite a while before the new managers. In 1875, I believe."

"Why 1875?" I asked.

"Because it was then that the Opera House was finally finished and opened for the public. But the curious thing was that the notes doubled in 1881."

"Because of the new managers?"

"That was what the idea was originally. Richard and Moncharmin ran the Opera differently than Debienne and Poligny. Not better or worse, just differently. But maybe the "Opera Ghost" didn't approve of the new system, hence the notes of what operas should be done and who plays the roles."

"How did they run the Opera differently?" I asked.

"I am not sure. Probably different rehearsal times, different salaries... that sort of thing. But, the new managers are not what caused this. There is another reason for the increase of notes. I took a quick look at the Opera's records just to be sure. In that same year, four new chorus girls joined the company. Their names were Lauren Leroux (in no way related to Gaston Leroux), Angelique Vermont, Emilie Sangere, and Christine Daae."

"Christine Daae," I echoed. "There really was a Christine Daae?"

"Oui. In fact, there is a painting of her in the manager's office. A sort of portrait. Remind me to show you." Here he paused and took another swing. "I don't think I have to tell you the rest of that story."

"In the end, after many tricks and a few deaths, Christine runs off with her pretty - boy and Erik is left in the cellars with a mob on his tail," I said.

Francois nodded. "But, here is where the facts are mixed up. Contrary to popular belief, the mob did if fact find Erik."

I leaned forward in my chair. "They found him?"

"They did."

"What happened?"

Francois winced. "I think I will spare you the details. You will probably see for yourself when you examine that skeleton."

I swallowed a lump that formed in my throat at Francois' words. "Did the mob kill him?"

"No." Another swing, this one emptying the bottle. "But he wished they did."

"Wait a minute," I said, holding up a hand. "How do you know all of this?"

"The Opera House's records," he answered quickly. Too quickly.

"The Opera House's records," I repeated.

"Yes."

"Francois, you're lying."

"I am not, Penny."

"Oh, so it's 'Penny' now? Cut the sweet crap and tell me how you know this," I answered, my frustration beginning to creep into my voice. "From what you have told me, this is what I understand happened. The mob, consisting of the whole company and maybe a few others went down to the hidden house underground. They found Erik. They beat Erik, and from the impression you gave me, I'd say pretty badly. They thought Erik dead, so they left him down there. Now answer me this. Why did Leroux write that the mob _never_ found him? And how do you know that the mob _did _find him?"

Francois was silent. He refused to look at me, but instead stared at the ground, as if all of a sudden finding the carpet extremely fascinating. From the down cast face, a small voice could be heard. "Penelope. Do not think that I do not trust you. I would gladly share this information with you in an instant. But you have no idea what you are dealing with here. Have you ever heard of the saying 'Ignorance is bliss?'"

"You called me here, Francois," I answered softly. "I want to do my job."

"Your job is to look at the skeleton. Nothing else."

"So you won't tell me?"

Slowly, the down cast head lifted to reveal frightened eyes. Francois was looking at me with such intensity, that I'm sure I would have moved back, save for the chair back blocking my path. "Do you believe in ghosts, Penelope?"

"No."

"You will. Mark my words, you will."

Well, that's it for now. I hope you all liked it. I know it's not one of my more interesting chapters, but it's an important one concerning information. The next one will be too.

I would first like to say thank you to all my reviewers. But I must pick out Daroga's Rainy Daae You won't believe this, but it IS just a coincidence! Until I have read your review, I have never seen the connection. You're one deep thinker! Maybe my subconscience is responsible for this. Who knows?


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